dosdourian.bob

Listen to the call of the loon in the wild, at dusk, near a calm body of water on a quiet, warm evening. Upon your first time hearing it, the call of the loon captures your attention and then lingers in your mind. The tones harken to you, a lonely voice begging to be heard once more. 

 

Pinpointing the precise direction from which it comes can be difficult because the call of the loon permeates the air and seems to echo all about.  Emanating from the still water upon which they live, the call of the loon is amplified by surface tension creating powerful, reverberating acoustic sounds that filters among the trees haunting pristine woodland. 

 

My first time hearing the call of the loon came in the gravely quiet, dead of night. While tenting in Maine, the campsite I occupied along Moosehead Lake was surrounded by woods with only a dirt road access. Any sound at all was easily, distinctly heard in this – nature’s amphitheater. The was the crackling, popping sound of pine sap snapping in the campfire, and the whooshing hush that occurred when it was doused with water. The rustling of tree branches from the wind turned to a light breeze that settled down to hushed whispers after sunset.

 

Then came the call of the loon. It played out in the way of hollow-sounding notes emanating from some weird, Lovecraftian woodwind instrument; the call percolating in a calm, macabre, haunting way.

 

The call of the loon echoed.

 

It echoed.